


Both Hands on the Wheel

by Rospberry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Mild Kink, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-18
Updated: 2007-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:06:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8369869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rospberry/pseuds/Rospberry
Summary: Sam tests Dean's powers of concentration when he's driving. Naughty boy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the middle verse of Nickelback's _Animals_. This fic seems so obvious that I'm sure someone else must have written their own version, but I haven't read any so *shrugs* here's mine. Blame Sam (and Nickelback).
> 
> Huge thanks to my beta Mayalaen.

Sam flicked off the flashlight, plunging the car interior into darkness as they raced through the night.

"Just keep heading toward Reno," he said. "There's a while to go yet."

Dean grunted an acknowledgement and shifted in the driver's seat, stretching out the kinks in his spine as much as his position would allow.

They'd been driving for five hours straight, and even Dean had to admit it was too much. Even the music blaring out from the radio was getting on his nerves; then again, it was Sam's choice of station. Dean still couldn't figure out how that had happened. 

He reached out a hand flicked the radio off, half-glancing at his brother, expecting a rebuke.

To his surprise, Sam said nothing, just gathered together the bundle of maps and the flashlight, twisting around to toss them onto the back seat. 

Sam turned back and maneuvered his lanky frame so that his legs weren't jammed up against the dashboard. He yawned, stretching his arms out to the sides and leaving one lying along the back of the bench seat, fingers touching the back of Dean's neck.

Dean glanced in his direction, but in the sporadic illumination provided by passing car headlights, he couldn't make out his brother's features.

The fingers began to trace a lazy pattern, little spirals of movement, and Dean cleared his throat.

"What are you doing?" he asked gruffly.

"Nothing," Sam replied.

Dean tried to move out of Sam's reach, but his little brother had long arms, and after a moment of awkward neck-twisting, Dean gave up and let the fingers continue to rub against his skin.

The Impala's engine was a rough purr, and she ate up the miles as Dean's warm grip on the soft leather of her wheel guided her along the interstate.

With Sam's fingers continuing their distracting ministrations, Dean could feel the car growing warm with each passing mile. It was oppressive, and doing nothing to help his concentration, so he reached out to roll down the window.

"Leave it," Sam said.

"But…"

"I said _leave it_ ," Sam repeated, more firmly this time, "and leave your hands on the wheel." He was using _that_ tone of voice, and Dean swallowed heavily, replacing his unsteady hands back on the wheel and feeling the dampness of his palms.

Sam was smirking into the darkness, feeling his brother's tension thrumming in the air. He slid a little closer to Dean, letting his rough fingers trail a path from close-cropped hair, down the soft skin to dip below Dean's collar, circling the knot of bone at the top of his spine before moving nonchalantly back up.

A flash of lights from a passing car showed Dean in silhouette, his jaw so tightly clenched it looked painful; Sam frowned and slid a little further along the bench seat so his body was almost touching Dean's.

He settled his large hand on the base of Dean's neck and gripped lightly as he leaned over to lick the edge of Dean's ear.

Dean jerked his head and gasped, "Sam," but was held firm as Sam's hand tightened its hold.

"Sit still," Sam warned, his shaggy mop of hair brushing Dean's cheek as he leaned in and sucked the lobe of his brother's ear, planting a trail of nipping kisses down his jawline, before settling his mouth on his throat and sucking the skin viciously. Dean tasted of oil and gun-smoke and sweat-soaked _need_.

He could feel Dean swallow heavily, feel the tension under his grip, and when Dean spoke, the words vibrated roughly through the air. "Sam, you have to…" He sucked in a sharp breath as Sam's teeth bit at his skin of his throat, laving the redness with his tongue, and the motion of the car abruptly shifted.

"Shit," Dean swore as he corrected the car's swerve. "Sam - Sammy - you have to stop. I'm driving."

Sam barely lifted his head, so the words puffed against Dean's moistened skin. "Nope," he said. "Just keep your eyes on the road."

"Dude, c'mon," Dean started to complain, the words lost in a gasp as Sam's hand slid across his denim-clad thigh and deliberately slowly unbuckled his belt, fingers groping for the button hidden underneath.

Tasting Dean's neck with lips and tongue, Sam's sure fingers found the elusive circle of metal and slid it through the button hole, allowing his knuckles to press on the swell of Dean's jeans. Dean was breathing heavily, hissing air back in through his teeth as he fought to concentrate on his driving, to try to ignore the manipulating fingers and tug of material against sensitive flesh.

"Sam… God… You can't…" Dean was almost whining, but despite his verbal complaints, he spread his legs further apart to allow Sam access.

Sam didn't even bother to respond, his fingers finding the zipper and tugging it down over the bulge in Dean's shorts. Dean let out a soft groan as Sam slid his hand inside and freed him from the layers of confining material.

His brother's hand slid up the length of Dean's dick, and Dean let out a curse, bucking his hips, Sam's hold on his neck the only thing stopping him from jerking back in the seat.

Sam smiled and murmured, "Impressive," in Dean's ear. His thumb swirled around the moistened tip, and he stroked his hand back down, hearing his brother panting, cursing under his breath, gasping his name.

Sam drew his hand back up and down again, using his brother's moisture to slide his hand against his skin. Tightening his fingers at the base of Dean's dick – he knew it drove Dean crazy – he forcefully pulled back up. Down and up. Up and down. Until Dean was spewing nonsense words and the Impala was lurching dangerously across the quiet road.

"Sam..." Dean managed to gasp. "I can't... I'm gonna-"

"So, pull over."

The Impala swerved off the road, the tires kicking up chunks of asphalt as Dean slammed on the brakes. The movement sent Sam's hand lurching forward, his grip still tight, and Dean threw his head back, gasping, "Oh, God… Sammy… Fuc-" as he sprayed the dashboard of the Impala with a sticky stream of seed.

Sam let go and waited until Dean stopped convulsing in the seat beside him before releasing his hold on his brother's neck. Dean's head dropped back heavily on the smooth leather, and he took his hands off the wheel, bringing one hand down over his face as the other awkwardly shoved his now limp dick back in his pants. He zipped them up noisily and rasped out, "Jesus, Sam…"

Sam chuckled, wiping his own hand clean on his thigh and settling back against the passenger door, watching Dean's shadowed form through half-lidded eyes as his brother tried to regain control of himself. Sam's own jeans were painfully tight, but he had no intention of having Dean return the favour in the car – the last time they'd done that Sam had almost broken his kneecap.

Dean's breathing eased, and he sat up in the seat slowly, his movements languid.

The headlights of the Impala leached back into the car, highlighting Dean's expression, and Sam could see a scowl form on Dean's face as he stared at the dashboard, his shoulders tensing with each passing second.

In a flurry of movement, Dean switched on the overhead light and leaned across Sam's lap, an elbow jabbing painfully against Sam's crotch as he threw the glove compartment open, fishing around inside until he triumphantly pulled out a handful of crumpled up paper napkins.

"Knew these would come in handy," he said to Sam, oblivious to Sam's grimace of pain. He straightened in his seat and then, with an almost religious fervor, began to wipe the creamy splatters off the car's display. 

"I'm so sorry, baby," he cooed, swiping paths across the gauges. "It wasn't my fault." As he said that, he shot Sam an accusatory glance, and Sam grinned back, unrepentant.

Finally satisfied his car was back to its pristine state, Dean tossed the napkins onto Sam's knee. "Keep 'em off the upholstery," he warned.

Sam half-glared, but didn’t say a thing, watching his brother turn back to the car and pat the wheel lovingly. His hand reached up, and he flicked the overhead light off, plunging the car back into a mass of shadows and hazily defined shapes.

Dean gave Sam a sidelong look. "Want to get a motel?"

Sam nodded and added, "Yeah," in case Dean couldn't make out the gesture. The napkins felt heavy on his lap, and he felt a niggling irritation – he refused to call it jealousy – toward the hunk of metal they were sitting in.

Dean grinned wolfishly and patted the wheel again. "Don't worry, baby, I won't let you get dirty again."

Sam's lip twitched, and he grinned evilly at the revving car. 'I wouldn't bet on it,' he thought and, unseen by Dean, flicked a napkin onto the floor with his finger.

He wondered if Dean had more napkins stashed away somewhere: he was going to need them.


End file.
